Page 116 of You're so Bad

I take a moment to consider it. “I don’t know if it’ll do any good, but I’m glad I did something. You’re right, though.” I run a hand across my mouth. “I’m glad I didn’t hurt him.”

She glances at me again. “Do you regret punching Colt?”

I snort. “Hell, no. He deserved it, and I’ll give him this much, he took it like a man. If I’d punched this asshole, though, I don’t know if I would have been able to stop. That’s not something…” I flex my hand, feeling the ache from earlier—the need to break him. “That’s not a test I want to fail, Shauna. Why’d you follow me?”

She tips her head back and laughs. “You think I haven’t been following you back there every single night? Amateur.”

Fuck me. I’m pretty sure I’m in love with her.

ChapterTwenty-Nine

Shauna

Message from Grandpa Fruckface:

It’s been forty-four days since you last responded to my messages.

“Rescheduling on us was in bad form,” Mira tells me, her lips painted red and pouty.

“I was busy.”

It’s Wednesday night, and I’m at Glitterati with Delia, sitting at the end of the bar next to the old-fashioned jukebox spraypainted with glitter. It’s buzzing with life even though it’s in the middle of the week, after eight.

Mira, Delia, and I went clothes shopping for Reese on Sunday afternoon. We also stopped at a vintage store and picked out a couple of hideous his and hers outfits for Leonard and me to wear to the photoshoot this weekend.

Mira took particular delight in choosing a boy band shirt for Reese. I’m pretty sure she was being ironic, but then again, she’s bedazzled her bar and covered it in glitter, so I can’t be sure. We also talked about Burke’s proposal, which Leonard had already showed me on video, and they wanted to know all about Leonard and me. In fact, Mira loudly asked me what twelve out of ten sex felt like while we were in line at the Starbucks in Target. I told them a bit about what happened last weekend, but they didn’t get all the details.

Now, sitting at the bar, Delia asks me, “You’re not going to tell us what you were busy with on Monday night?”

What I was busy with was scouting Joel’s house with Leonard.

There’s no way of knowing whether Leonard freaked him out enough that he’ll behave—but in the meantime Danny and Burke’s private investigator are on the case, trying to unearth some of the dirt we’re all hoping is there.

Reese’s birthday is also coming up in less than a week, so soon he’ll be legally free of the jerk.

I consider how to answer for a moment and then figure, screw it, they both already know about Reese. It feels good to have friends I can trust enough to confide in.

“We paid a visit to the a-hole who was terrorizing Reese.”

Delia’s eyes pop wide. “Does Lucas know about this?”

“No, but don’t worry. The guy didn’t see our faces, and a tree did all the work for us.”

“Explain,” Mira says, pointedly ignoring a man who’s clearing his throat a few spaces down at the bar, waiting for service. On the weekends she has another bartender, but tonight it’s just her.

I do, and Mira slaps the bar with a wide, toothy grin. “Sometimes life really does deliver.”

The guy who could use a throat lozenge says, “And sometimes it doesn’t,” giving her a look that would peel paint off plaster. Then he leaves the bar, doing his damnedest to slam the door. It was built with slow-release hinges, though, so life has handed him another disappointment.

“Take care! Make sure to review us online,” she calls after him.

“And you’re the one who has business skills,” Delia mutters.

“But I don’t have people skills, sister dearest,” Mira says, reaching across the bar to tap her on her slightly upturned nose. “And most people would say that’s what counts.”

She steps off to take care of the other, more patient patrons, and Delia gives me a pointed look. “You see it now.”

“See what?”

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